A/N: Here it is, the penultimate chapter. I'm still in denial about it, but I've acknowledged it in most of my previous longer works, so I can't ignore it and pretend it's not happening with this one, lol. (Final chapter is an epilogue, btw, just FYI.) I'm really sad it's ending, but I've loved getting to post it these past several months and share it with y'all. There's a new cover art at the beginning of this chapter on AO3 and a bonus one at the bottom which was made last minute because, upon re-reading, I knew I had to include a visual representation of Olivia's "Our Founder" picture mentioned a few paragraphs in. Enjoy.

But I'm a fire, and I'll keep your brittle heart warm
If your cascade ocean wave blues come
All these people think love's for show
But I would die for you in secret
The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me
Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

- Taylor Swift, "Peace"

Chapter 65.

Peace

. . .

The one-year mark of the attack that almost destroyed Olivia Rollins-Benson arrived quietly, with little fanfare. Partly because it was impossible to conceive of a whole year having gone by, when those horrendous three days were still so fresh in the mind, so vivid within the body; partly because Olivia and Amanda had worked hard to forget. Grim but silent looks at the advancing calendar, complete avoidance of the subject, lots of activities planned for what was ordinarily an uneventful month. They had made a bigger deal out of Mother's Day than either of their own birthdays.

No one requested bagels for breakfast anymore.

In spite of their efforts, it was difficult for Olivia to leave the apartment on those days. Yesterday, the first anniversary of the abduction itself had been a Sunday, so talking her family into staying home all day in their pajamas was a cinch. But today was Monday, which meant school and work and interacting with the public. Luckily, she only had to be in her office for a half-day—per her and Amanda's requests—and that was already rapidly drawing to a close.

"Damn, Liv, feel like I barely see you anymore," Fin kept commenting whenever she notified him that she wouldn't be working a regular shift. Soon she would have to tell him she was retiring. (Soon, she vowed.) "You got another captain gig going in the Bronx or something?"

It wasn't the Bronx and it wasn't a captain gig, but the Fearlessness Foundation had been consuming a great deal of her time as she reached out to prospective sponsors, familiarized herself with legislative reform, and gathered a team of consultants for every foreseeable avenue the organization might pursue. Amanda was her right hand, of course, and her most trusted adviser, but some things even Amanda Rollins-Benson didn't know about.

For instance, it was Luna Prasada to whom Olivia turned for pointers on the business end, including securing a facility to act as headquarters. The outspoken CEO was only too happy to offer her input, and gladly would have taken over the whole operation if Olivia hadn't put her foot down—firmly. She'd been proud of herself for handling the woman, whose pushiness was, thankfully, mitigated by her generosity. Once Luna was clear about who ran the show, she became much more tolerable and constructive. A percentage of sales on some of her non-sexual We-B-Well products were to be donated to Fearlessness, and there was talk of the foundation getting its own merchandise line.

Evie Barnes made a sizable donation as well, and just as Amanda predicted, the young woman had a talent for both digital and social media. She and her techy fiancé were preparing the foundation website for launch and creating an online presence on all the most popular platforms. Several of their former adult-film-actor friends, many in need of the foundation's services themselves, were creating promotional material and videos in which they starred.

So far, Olivia had declined every interview, although if the podcast took off, she was willing to lend her voice. Just not her face.

An anonymous donor had advanced such a generous amount, there was almost no need for any other contributions. That hadn't stopped Dana Lewis and Alex Cabot from adding their own "two cents," which actually totaled in the hundreds of thousands and definitely came with their names on the cards. Olivia suspected the anonymous gift was from Jenny Aschler, but didn't ask if Amanda had contacted her. If Jenny wished her identity to remain secret, Olivia would gladly leave it that way. She hadn't been exploited to the same degree Jenny had as a child, but she understood the paranoia and deep, cringing revulsion of being looked at. Sometimes it was so intense, she wanted to crawl out of her own skin.

Instead of posing for any new Our Founder photos, she had submitted one Amanda took of her on their honeymoon, looking refreshed and relaxed after a swim on Seven Mile Beach. Eternal summer; eternal peace at water's edge. It was an incentive, she supposed, for what she hoped to recapture through her work with the foundation; what she hoped it helped others recapture as well.

Barba was recruiting his most deep-pocketed friends—the owner of his favorite vacation yacht among them—and encouraging his boyfriend, who was no slouch himself, to do the same. Olivia had yet to discuss her new passion project with Lorraine Maxwell, Rita Calhoun, or anyone else directly associated with the NYPD, where she didn't want word of her departure leaked until, as Amanda liked to put it, all her ducks were in a row.

A few of the fluffy little waterfowl were still being wrangled in, but Olivia was growing more and more confident that they would fall in line with a bit more coaxing. As a matter of fact, while her attention had been turned inward, the clock seemed to have doubled its speed again, and she looked up to find it time to check on her latest hatchling.

She grabbed her bag from the coat stand by the door to her office, and happened to glance back into the room before stepping out. It looked so different than it had last year at this time. In a way it didn't feel like hers anymore, despite the twenty-five years' worth of awards, photographs, and keepsakes that decorated it. Early on in her detective career, someone had asked what she would do if she couldn't be part of SVU anymore, and she remembered immediately dissolving into tears. At the time she'd been so afraid of losing the one thing that gave her life meaning—afraid of it leaving her, just as everyone else seemed to—she had clung to it like a lifeline. Now she felt herself slowly letting go, wading out into the waters, still afraid but no longer petrified that nothing would be there to keep her afloat.

How strange that she should be the one to walk away first. How strange and how fitting. She had gained much since that fierce yet deeply damaged young woman wept at the thought of not making a difference—gained and lost so very much—and she finally realized that her work didn't define her or validate her humanity, her existence. Or at least it wasn't the only thing that did. Her family, her accomplishments as a mother and a wife, those were the things she wanted to be defined by.

Olivia would never stop fighting for survivors, but it was the people who fought for her, who gave her unconditional love every day whether or not she was a cop, whose validation meant the most.

"Picking up your old lady, Cap?" Fin asked when she closed and locked her office door, starting across the bullpen. He was kicked back casually at his desk, Churlish and Velasco on either side of him, hunched into a conversational huddle. Muncy had already moved on from the unit, and Bruno seemed to come and go as he pleased.

Personally, Olivia would have cracked down a little harder on that, but the detective was Fin's hire and had probably picked up the habit during her absence. The sergeant's command style was somewhat lackadaisical compared with hers, and she felt a bit like Mom returning home to lay down the law after Dad watched the kids all day and let them get away with murder. Actually, Amanda was taking on the role of Mom now, since her promotion to first grade, and she kept complaining about what a pain in the ass all the third and second grades were.

"See what I had to put up with when you and Amaro first came rolling into town, not knowing your asses from a hole in the ground?" Olivia liked to tease, although she gave just as much sympathy too. She knew the pressure her wife was under, and occasionally it made her question whether she should place such a burden on Amanda's slender shoulders. But also emerging was one hell of a leader who was eagerly rising to the challenges put in front of her.

When Olivia commented on how well Amanda took charge of the squad and delegated orders, the cheeky detective flashed a dimpled grin and said, "I got a lot of practice with our kid." No need to specify which kid, either; they both knew she meant Jesse, whose recent adventure into the City with her best friend Jillian—and no adult in sight—had given them a whole new crop of gray hairs. Olivia was used to it by now, but Amanda spent a good five minutes in front of the mirror after showers, hunting for wiry white strands among the soft spun-gold and bemoaning each one she found.

"Yes, she should be done," Olivia said, glancing at her watch mostly for effect. As if she hadn't been watching the clock the whole time. "I hope. I was practically comatose after mine, so I figure she could use a lift. And knowing Amanda, a steak dinner or something. I'll refrain from telling her she's also graduated to being called my 'old lady,' by the way."

Fin chuckled lightly, but turned dead serious when the detectives tried to join in. They both went silent at once, Churlish's eyes widened to twice their normal size and Velasco grimacing like he had gas pains. Okay, so maybe the sergeant had better control of the squad than what was apparent at first blush. He winked at Olivia when the younger officers cleared their throats and tried to look busy. "Tell 'er I bet she killed it," he said as an aside, with the smile to match. "But don't expect no favors. Just 'cause we friends don't mean I won't still whoop her ass at the sergeant shit."

Mid-laugh, Olivia got the sudden urge to announce her retirement right then. Fin had been loyal to her for years, especially since her promotion to squad leader, and her decision to step back would affect him too. Maybe he wouldn't want to split command duties with Amanda until she could pursue a higher rank, as Olivia hoped. He might even decide to retire himself; he had put in his twenty—more than—and sixty-three was right around the corner (which she only knew because she had access to his jacket, as his superior officer). Phoebe would be all for it, but what if Fin resented Olivia and felt like she'd pushed him into it? It was one thing to walk out on a job, but Olivia Benson didn't walk out on a friend. Brothers in blue wasn't just a hollow sentiment to her, at least not with Fin. He was truly the brother she'd never had.

It was decided, then. She wanted to wait for Amanda's results, to be absolutely sure they weren't jumping the gun, and as soon as she had confirmation, she would tell her sergeant, her chosen brother, that she wanted to step down and leave her post to Amanda. Despite all her doubts and hesitation, she believed he would understand. He loved Amanda too.

"You okay, Liv?" Fin had dismissed the younger detectives from around his workspace—shooed them off, to be more precise—and he leaned forward confidentially, elbows on his desk. "Looked like you were about to say something there for a minute . . . "

"Oh, um . . . not really. Well— " Olivia shrugged the purse strap up on her shoulder a few times, though it wasn't falling down. She checked her watch again. "Nothing that can't wait till next time. But, Fin . . . "

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For everything. All that you've done for me, for Amanda, and our family. I couldn't ask for a better number two than what you've been these past several years. I'll always be grateful for that. And even more than that, you've been there for me since— well, you're the longest friendship I've ever had, let's put it that way. I just wanted you to know, in case I haven't said it before. In case you didn't know how much you mean to me."

Fin studied her for the longest time, and she assumed he was trying to figure out what had inspired the speech, but when she spotted the glossy sheen in his eyes, she realized he was holding back tears. She couldn't recall a single time before that she had seen her sergeant cry, and it rendered her momentarily speechless along with him. Then he went and said the one thing that she'd never expected to hear from him; the one thing that moved her more than anything he had said in their twenty-plus years as friends:

"Love you too, Liv."

Neither of them acknowledged their emotions, beyond some sniffing and a few hard blinks of downcast eyes, but when Olivia turned to go, Fin asked gently, "You are coming back, right?"

Olivia nodded, dabbing a tissue from inside her purse under her damp nose. "Bright and early tomorrow morning. Hopefully, your Detective Bruno will decide to grace us with his presence as well."

"He'll be here. We all will."

"Counting on it."

. . .

Outside the municipal civil service building where NYPD exams were conducted, Olivia waited in the driver's seat of her Ford Explorer for Amanda to exit. She had texted that she was finished with the sergeant exam moments after Olivia's arrival, so Olivia hadn't bothered to park, instead letting the vehicle idle in front of the building while she watched the door where mostly men filtered out, one at a time, every few minutes.

"I'll bet she scores higher than all of you motherfuckers," she muttered at one guy who walked past. He vaguely resembled Matthew Parker—at least he did in her mind—and a shudder went down her spine when he briefly glanced her way. She pressed the power lock button on her armrest repeatedly until he was out of sight. "Goddammit," she whispered, furious at her own shaking hands and nervous bladder. The desire to pee was suddenly so strong she had to squeeze her thighs together.

That's how it happened now. She would see a man who looked like Gus or one of his henchmen (they were almost everywhere), and she became a quivering mess who could barely hold her urine, as if her body was reliving The Box and the inability to relieve herself without extreme pain or humiliation. These days it usually passed quickly, thank God, but for several seconds at a time, at least once or twice a day, she was back in Hell, the lower half of her body was not her own, and she felt like death was the only escape.

Then she saw Amanda, and: instant peace. It was no less of a trigger than the men's faces, but she didn't care. Something had to get her through the flashbacks and panic attacks, and if it was another person on whom she based her recovery, so be it. She wasn't an addict in a codependent relationship who was in danger of relapse if her partner couldn't hack it. Amanda and the kids were her home, her solace, her sanctuary, and nothing else could heal her like they could. Dr. Birdwell might caution her about basing her happiness on other fallible people, but for now it's what kept Olivia going.

And that was enough.

"Well?" she asked, once the doors were unlocked and Amanda was seated beside her. The plan had been to remain casual and let her wife give whatever details she saw fit about the testing process. But her excitement had kicked in the moment the detective (soon-to-be sergeant?) got inside the vehicle. "How'd you do? You aced it, right?"

Amanda made a sound that was part scoff, part laugh, and all Detective Rollins. "You know they don't give the results right away. Your guess is as good as mine, darlin'."

"You have to have some idea of how you did, though. I didn't know what percentile I was in until the grades were released, but I knew I'd passed. And we've been studying for weeks . . . " That part had actually been rather fun—in Olivia's opinion, at least. She'd enjoyed whipping out the homemade flash cards and pop-quizzing Amanda while the younger woman rolled her eyes, groaned, and heaved tragic sighs.

Do you realize how lucky you are to have unlimited access to your study buddy, who herself happens to be a former sergeant, and a pretty damn good one? Olivia had asked, during an especially recalcitrant mood from her beloved.

So lucky, had been the reply, rumbled against Olivia's neck, in between the soft, warm kisses Amanda pressed there. She held Olivia's hair back—it had grown out enough for that now—like she was peeking out from behind a curtain. Her lips were pink velvet on Olivia's skin. Probably the luckiest damn lady on earth. But you can see how I'd be distracted with you sittin' there lookin' like that, can't you?

"Sitting there looking like that" translated to Olivia seated on the bed, wearing PJ bottoms and the T-shirt Amanda had bought for her at the Bruce Springsteen concert the year before, readers perched on the end of her nose, and a pencil tucked behind her ear. Scratch that—the pencil had slipped from the spot a moment later, when Amanda moved to that side and started kissing. Olivia had to agree with her on one thing: she was very distracted.

The intimacy was becoming easier and, tentatively, more frequent. Olivia still had some trouble initiating, but Amanda's patience and willingness just to hold her without it leading anywhere took off much of the pressure. Orgasms were less intense and much more difficult for her to reach than ever before, although Amanda seemed to be recovering from her dry spell. Honestly, as long as Olivia was pleasing her wife, she didn't really need to get off herself. Eventually her libido might return, she hoped, but until then, she was happy making Amanda feel good. Any time they could both enjoy sex without flashbacks
(big yummy cock)
was a deeply satisfying experience that felt like its own sort of healing. A chance to reconnect and to repair that part of their relationship.

Finding out that sex was not the foundation of their relationship, and in fact, probably not even on the list of top five things that held them together, had strengthened their bond far more than Olivia could have imagined. In some ways she felt freer in Amanda's presence than she ever had. She thought it must be what being on the receiving end of unconditional love was like. The net that always caught you when you fell.

"Welp." Amanda rubbed her palms back and forth on her pant legs and shrugged, about as nonchalant as if she'd just taken a fashion quiz in Vogue magazine rather than a four-hour exam that saw only a select few individuals getting the promotion they'd studied, sweated, and put in countless OT hours for. "Far's I know, I passed. Better not start calling me Sarge just yet, though, in case I ain't what the brass have in mind." She fluffed her pale hair—hers was longer now too—and formed a curvy silhouette with her hands.

True, the brass rarely made a point of hiring women for the more advanced ranks, and cute blondes with ponytails and dimples were even lower priority. Total crock of shit, but still very true. And if Amanda didn't make it onto the final list of selected candidates, it would be at least four years before she could reapply. That would mean Olivia would have to put the foundation on hold and stay with SVU, at least until someone suitable was found to take her place. As far as she was concerned, there was no one else but Amanda.

Her thoughts were on the verge of spiraling, which often led to a panic attack or an emotional meltdown, when left unchecked. She didn't want to do that today, not right after Amanda had just taken a test to appease her and help bring her plans to fruition. Breathe, she told herself. The voice in her head had started to sound a little like Dr. Birdwell, and that was okay—high and sweet, it reminded her of soothing birdsong, which made her all the more receptive to the message delivered. Breathe and don't catastrophize.

"Well, if they don't pick you, then they're even bigger fools than I would've guessed," she said out loud in a clear, confident tone. The more you spoke that way, the more you started to believe it. That was the theory, anyway. "You should get promoted on merit alone, to be honest. You brought down a major crime network, for God's sake."

There was a pause after she said it—not a record screech, but a few subtle beats that managed to speak volumes. They didn't bring up the attack or anything remotely related to it in regular conversation much, and Amanda appeared to be weighing her words carefully before proceeding. "I didn't do it alone," she finally said, a meaningful look in her eye, a soft hand on Olivia's cheek. "And I had other more important things on my mind than cleaning up the City."

That was one way of looking at it. It gave Olivia a more active role in her own rescue, like she had been undercover and the torture was a strategic move on her part, a sacrifice she had made to apprehend some of the worst offenders in the country. As if she'd been raped for the greater good. But there was no more nobility or glamor in that than in self-immolation. Dead was just dead; raped was just raped. And she couldn't take credit for something she had simply fallen into, even if Amanda was willing to share it.

"You'll always be my hero, even if you don't make sergeant," she said, and cupped a hand to the back of Amanda's. Lips prominently puckered, she kissed the palm. "So, hero, where to? Now that we're both free for the rest of the day."

Amanda puckered her lips too, as if mentally weighing her options. Despite the blasé attitude about the test, she looked like she could use a drink and a shoulder massage. Since turning forty-three on her last birthday, she kept complaining that she felt like taking a nap all the time. But to be fair, they'd had one hell of a year, so it wasn't any wonder she was exhausted.

"Hmm. We could go get a slice of pizza or something, to celebrate, if you're hungry." Amanda shrugged, not all that invested in the suggestion, it seemed. She was usually ravenous after any type of exertion, including intellectual, and Olivia had anticipated a big feast, though she wasn't all that hungry either. "Or we could just go home where it's quiet, and vegetate until the kids are out of school."

Now, that sounded appealing. In spite of Olivia cutting back to light duty at work, it was still difficult for them to find time to themselves. Even date nights usually involved Daphne Tyler tagging along. The little clerk hadn't dated much since Kat's death, the second time one of her love interests had been killed in cold blood. Olivia felt for their friend and always enjoyed spending time with her, but she also felt like her love life was on display when the three of them went out together. It had never bothered her much before, but after her extreme encounter with voyeurism, she hadn't quite gotten over the hypervigilance.

One day, maybe. For now, she was content to stay at home with her hero and protector.

"How about a compromise? We go home for some you and me time—vegetating, as you call it—then go pick up Samantha from the nanny's. Then when everyone else is home, we can order a celebratory pizza, have it delivered, and be, like, the best moms ever. Or until next time we have to tell them no, at least." Olivia made the suggestion as if she didn't know the answer would be a resounding yes from all involved, of which Amanda's would be loudest. The woman loved pizza. Tomorrow, Olivia would wander out to the kitchen, barefoot and sleep-mussed, to find her eating a cold slice in front of the open refrigerator. It never failed.

"Ohh, the place to ourselves for a good two hours, and pizza for dinner? I knew there's a reason I married you, city girl."

Amanda hadn't called her by that nickname in quite a while. The City had let both of them down in ways they never could have imagined, and it was impossible to feel connected to something, to feel that it was yours, when it had failed you so drastically and showed no remorse. It didn't slow down or give you time to catch your breath; it didn't care if you were happy or sad or wrecked beyond belief; it didn't stop churning out rapists, killers, and other horrible monsters.

They would have to work at getting back their love of the City, but the name brought with it warm memories, and Olivia smiled softly. Today was another good memory to add to that list. If she kept going, someday she might have enough good to outweigh the bad.

. . .